


In Death's Arms, I Wait for You

by Snakeskin



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Angst, Cheryl is a gothic lesbian vampire, Cheryl is broody af, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/F, Lust, Smut, Toni is that bitch, gothic overtones, lots of blood sucking, lusty love, unrequited love but not really
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-27
Updated: 2020-01-17
Packaged: 2021-01-04 21:49:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21204620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snakeskin/pseuds/Snakeskin
Summary: Cheryl is a vampire who has been roaming the world for the past two hundred years. When an unrelenting pull draws her back to Thornhill Manor, her childhood home situated in the quaint town of Riverdale, boredom ensues. She finds herself enrolled at Riverdale High to familiarize herself with modern, teen culture. There she meets the beautiful Antoinette "Toni" Topaz, confident, popular and highly independent.In the bright halls of Riverdale High, senior Toni Topaz meets drop dead gorgeous Cheryl Blossom, the enigmatic new student who immediately captures her, and the rest of the school's, attention.  Never has she felt an attraction so immediate, nor strong.  Through their ever growing interactions, Toni begins to fall for the hauntingly beautiful stranger.For better or  worse, together or separate, their futures are intertwined.





	1. Hunger

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, everybody! This is the start to the vampire fic that I've always wanted, fair warning, please heed the tags. Cheryl is very much based on Anne Rice's depiction of vampires (with a few of my own liberties). In the world of Anne Rice, vampires have a heightened beauty and are incredibly seductive. They also have a high regard for aesthetics, really just art in any form. 
> 
> In this fic we will see Cheryl go through a growth and a decline, so if you're someone who doesn't like reading your fave written as a morally ambiguous character, this story is not for you. Remember, she is a vampire at the end of the day, and her main desires are pleasure and blood (sometimes at the same time).
> 
> With that being said, enjoy the ride!
> 
> (For those reading 'If It's Meant to Be, It'll Be', I'm sorry! I see the comments wondering about an update but I've honestly gone through the longest stretch of writer's block and have yet to find the inspiration to continue that story.)

Cheryl was restless.

For the past decade she had been roaming the eastern coast of America, taking in the bright lights of the city that never sleeps and immersing herself completely in the pulsing energy that seemed to pump from the city's core. She had become familiar with every museum, every venue that offered live music, dug through hundreds of antique bookstores but on nights when the moon was especially clear, she drew.

She drew moments that stood vividly in her mind, even after two centuries of walking the earth. Her departed family, past lovers, significant locations, each memory becoming tangible on canvas as her hand confidently stroked each line without pause. Yet, on this night she felt an overwhelming feeling of dissatisfaction.

The sounds of the city seemingly became overwhelming overnight. The rattle of cars, noisy conversation and everything big city were much too loud for Cheryl's acute hearing. For a moment she simply closed her eyes and stood in front of her unfinished drawing, her crimson tipped fingers rubbing her temples in order to alleviate a small build up of tension.

Alas, the pressure remained. With a discontented sigh, she appraised the work in progress before her. It was rare for her to stop before completing a drawing. Her mind and fingers always seemed to work in tandem to create a visual representation of her most buried thoughts. It took only a moment to recognize the fine lines of European architecture.

Thornhill Manor.

A property belonging to the Blossom lineage. One that she had lived in when warm blood still coursed through her veins. It had been many years since she had walked through the halls of her childhood home. Though those walls held many memories, she could not fathom why her subconscious had led her to draw the gates stamped with the Blossom insignia, the stone pathway and surrounding woodland.

She set the pencil down, unable to continue. Trying unsuccessfully to block out the noises of the street below the high ceilinged loft, she wondered if she simply needed to feed. Fresh blood always had the dual effect of calming and exciting her. Her thoughts became much clearer yet the act itself was highly arousing. Perhaps she could do with a temporary distraction.

Without so much as a glance in the mirror, Cheryl left the unfurnished loft to find something, or rather someone, to satiate her hunger. A look in the mirror would only tell her something that she had known since a very young age.

She was breathtakingly beautiful.

As if the universe had been privy to her macabre fate of having to roam the earth as a vampire, she had been graced with a gothic beauty. Porcelain skin, dark lashes, and hair red as hell fire drew looks of admiration and lust from both men and women. Though she preferred the fairer sex when it came to sensual unions, her thirst saw no allegiance to gender.

Wandering the streets of New York City led Cheryl to step into a nightclub she hadn't visited in quite some time. She was not one for clubs, the loud music quickly became too much for her sensitive ears and the level of hormones made it increasingly difficult for her to control her hunger. Yet, on the other hand, she revered clubs for providing the perfect setting for entrapping the blissfully unaware. The darkness, alcohol and desperation for connection made finding a willing donor a simple task.

Barely disguised desire vibrated in her direction as she elegantly walked the floor, shedding her coat and revealing a blood red velvet dress. Panels of smooth, alabaster skin teased a taut stomach and unending legs. As any skilled hunter, she understood what lured prey, and she was well aware that her lithe body, on top of her beauty, was a seduction in itself. In less than ten minutes, she was approached at her perch at the bar but one inhale told her everything she needed to know about his blood.

It was sadly mediocre.

Undoubtedly tainted by nicotine. She never understood why so many humans knowingly poisoned themselves. Numerous beautiful women had been denied a night of sinful pleasure with her because of the habit. A true shame.

After being met with nothing but silence and an impassive expression, the man finally accepted that she had no interest and left with sagging shoulders. She ran the tip of her forefinger along the rim of her glass as she observed the crowd of bodies move in a staccato of shadows against the pulsing lights.

And then she smelled him.

Healthy. Virile. Utterly intoxicating.

He was handsome. A self-assured smile already prominent on his rugged features as he approached. She felt the waves of envy rolling off many women as he sidled up beside her. Little did they know she was interested solely in what pumped through his veins and not the protrusion that lay between his legs.

\---

"I'm a fitness and underwear model," he shared with a smug smile after ordering a third round.

She was practically salivating with him being in such close proximity. The healthy beat of his heart was audible at such an intimate distance. It was almost as if she could see it, red and rhythmic, pumping pure, unadulterated blood throughout his veins. Raising the still full glass to her ruby painted lips, she drained the alcohol, never taking her dark eyes off of the man beside her.

"I assure you we can find something more entertaining to do than standing here exchanging trivial details that we'll only forget come morning," she husked, her tone low and provocative.

The victorious look in his eyes forced Cheryl to bite her bottom lip to suppress the strong urge to let out a mocking laugh. She simply watched him with ever increasing hunger as he motioned the bartender to close out his tab. As soon as he finished signing the receipt, Cheryl felt his arm wrap possessively around her waist as he led her through the crowd toward the exit.

Men were fools when it came to satisfying their carnal desires.

Upon entering the man's condo, Cheryl allowed the previously restrained hunger to wash over her. Her brown eyes became a luminous black as she pushed the unsuspecting man onto the couch. His dark eyes betraying his growing arousal as she straddled him in a single fluid movement. She ran her pale fingers ran through his short, curly hair, eyes roaming his features.

So _willing_.

No longer able to take the growing tension, he surged forward, strong hands gripping at the curve of her waist, connecting their lips, conveying his desperate desire for her.

She allowed it.

It would be a small token of her appreciation for offering the viscous nectar, the only form of sustenance that quelled her thirst. Pressing a hand to his chest, she pushed his back against the couch and leaned forward, lips parting in a seductive, dangerous smile.

His excitement grew. She could hear the increase in his heart rate, could feel how he gripped her waist tighter. Heat radiated off his body. Running the tip of her nose against his cheek, drawing a trail down to his jawline and finally to his neck, she took a deep inhale, taking in his masculine musk, as well as the smell and sound of blood rushing through his veins.

It was as if she was delaying her own pleasure. And she was. Beneath the thin epidermis lay what she wanted, no, needed, most in this agonizing, eternal life. Thick, nourishing blood. She enjoyed the moment, her senses heightened, before pressing full lips to his pulse point, feeling the powerful thrum against her mouth.

The tension filled her stomach, her incisors lengthened and she quickly sank them into the soft, yielding skin of his neck. A sharp cry of surprise fell from his lips as Cheryl drank deeply, her eyes rolling back as the seductive taste hit her tongue and pleasure coursed through her body. She detached from his neck, swallowing a mouthful of warm blood and let out an earnest moan.

God, she didn't know what was better, consuming fresh blood or experiencing a powerful climax.

Licking her lips, she looked down at the man to admire the dreamy expression on his face. She wondered what it felt like for a human to be fed on, the agony and ecstasy of it all. The thought was fleeting as she sank her teeth into him again, taking another drink of his life essence.

Absolutely divine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thoughts, feelings, emotions?


	2. The Call

Weeks had passed and the city's resonance had reached a fever pitch.

The sounds of the streets no longer rose from below but seemed to reverberate directly in the canals of Cheryl's ears. The once alluring energy of Manhattan had become utterly draining. The pressure forming against her temples subsided briefly during her feedings only to return with a powerful vengeance in the moments following the afterglow.

Oh, how she longed for silence.

She sunk further into the lone piece of furniture in the spacious loft, a French Louis Accent chair upholstered in crushed velvet, the same color as champagne. She adored how it reminded her of the furnishings her mother had once filled their old home with, well crafted, custom made and extravagantly priced.

Wealth, affluence, it was all but a part of the Blossom heritage. Steeped in their pedigree. She had never wanted for anything. Any object of her youth's desire had been a, "mother, I simply _must_ have it" away.

Absently she ran her long pale fingers along the velvet that lined the arms of the chair, relishing in the soft velvet feeling in the forward motion of her hands which transitioned into a satisfying friction in the reverse, backward caress. Her eyes fell on the canvas before her. It remained unfinished. Since she had started the creation many nights ago, the desire to continue had not returned. Much to her dismay, she had not drawn since.

The deafening noise around her not only plagued her to near physical pain, but it also took her inspiration to touch pencil to paper.

She wondered what stripped her ability to silence the sounds of her surroundings. It had never been an issue before. Had she already grown tired of the city that rivaled her own reverence for the arts? She had been certain that NYC, out of all the North American cities, would hold her attention for an extended period of time. But the clarity provided by her recent feeding made it abundantly clear that her time in the populous city was nearing its end.

Her mind and body yearned for tranquility. She took another look at the canvas, gazing at the half formed sketch of Thornhill Manor with an ache in her chest. As if pieces of the puzzle fell into place, she finally understood what her subconscious was desperately trying to tell her.

Could it be that simple?

More than a century had passed since she had visited Riverdale. The era had been marked with horse drawn carriages, tightly laced corsets, and civil war. The latter was dismissed easily enough from her mind as death had lost any real meaning long ago.

After being turned, she had been taught the secrets of the new world by her maker, Marius. She had left Riverdale behind to travel endlessly, exploring and discovering the beauty of humanity with only her maker by her side for decades. When she had been mortal, she always held an affinity for the arts and her vampirism only heightened her proclivity for aesthetic thinking.

Her life's purpose became the pursuit of beauty and pleasure.

She found beauty in the exotic. The vibrant cultures of foreign countries opened her mind and newfound inspiration flowed within her. In the early 1900s the traveling pair found themselves in India, already under the rule of the British Empire. Everyday she was swathed in a new sari made from the finest Indian silks and Marius in equally handsome kurtas. But nothing had touched her soul as deeply as the night her and Marius decided to take a fortuitous midnight stroll only to come across a band of street musicians.

The composition of sounds, especially the haunting strings of the violin and drums, which Marius graciously informed her were called "tablas", had moved Cheryl in an explicable way. After the musicians finished their performance, she handed over her entire purse filled with rupees and raced home. Her hand had flown across canvas for days, only stopping to feed at Marius's urgent behest.

While she found beauty in culture, she found pleasure in the beds of beautiful women, both in the taste of their intimacy and in their blood. Immortality rid the need to hide her sexual deviance, something unheard of in the 19th century. She quickly became learned in pleasures of the flesh, her sexual prowess growing with each woman she visited in the night. Her ever curious mind read and reread the translated texts of the _Kamasutra_, learning the philosophy of love and triggers of desire. As a lover she was equal parts giving, controlling and adventurous. Satisfaction was guaranteed for those she took to bed.

Cheryl smiled at the memories before grimacing at the insistent throb at her temple. She had only returned to North America nearly eighteen years ago, choosing to live and travel abroad for the majority of her vampiric life. Even after the passing of her maker, her inclination for artistic knowledge and discovery kept her flitting from untravelled country to country.

Numerous decades had passed without a single thought of returning home.

Where had the sudden nostalgia come from? And why now?

It frustrated her not knowing what was pulling her back home. A small part of her wanted to be stubborn and remain in Manhattan. Undoubtedly she would miss the abundance of museums, she was sure the general offering for art consumption in a small town such as Riverdale would be severely lacking for her taste. However, since the idea of a homecoming teased itself into her conscious mind, Cheryl could not deny the internal whisperings that beckoned her home.

The more she dwelled on the thought, the more the pull intensified. As she slowly succumbed to the idea of traveling home, the throb at her temple lessened, the streets quieted and her fingers itched for the forgotten graphite pencil that lay on the canvas tray.

In a quick flurry of movement, not wanting to waste the momentary peace, she stood before the canvas with the pencil poised and ready between her fingertips. Instantly, her hand became a blur of ivory as she drew with renewed fervor. Line after line, the architecture of Thornhill Manor was filled in and brought to life. She drew the countless windows, shaded in the small bridge that provided passage over a small pond that she used to be fascinated with as a child, and finally slanted her hand to perfect the texture of brick and stone that made up the exterior walls of her old home.

Within mere seconds the drawing was complete. She stood admiring the finished work, impressed with her own photographic memory. It was as if she had not been away for nearly a century and a half. The details were all there, drawn onto the canvas as if she had never left. With the consummation of the drawing, her mind finally felt at ease and the decision had been made.

She would leave for Riverdale immediately.

Cheryl Blossom, after ages away, would return home to answer fate's call.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys are enjoying this story so far! I'd love any feedback on it as it's different than anything I've written before (highly stylized w/ gothic overtones). And for those of you who are anxiously awaiting Toni's introduction, soon! Only a couple chapters away. For now, I think it's necessary to dive into Cheryl and her inner workings.


	3. Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have returned

It was with a melancholic air that Cheryl reacquainted herself with the dusty halls of Thornhill Manor. 

Each room seemed to be haunted with memories past. Visions of her mother draped in her favorite evening gown, extravagantly trimmed and detailed with lace, lay claim over the large dining room where she would float amongst her guests, playing the perfect hostess. The spacious library was reserved for the ghost of her father, tucked away in his favorite tufted wingback armchair, enjoying a distilled spirit before retiring for the night. Finally, her dearly missed twin brother presided over the sitting room, his jovial laughter echoing against the dark wooden walls covered in intricately patterned wallpaper, eyes gleaming with youthful mischief. 

With each pass into a new room, Cheryl's nimble fingers deftly removed the muslin cloth that covered antiquated furniture once lovingly curated by her mother. A deep sigh rumbled in her chest as she set her eyes upon an exquisitely embroidered, chaise lounge. She saw herself as a child, red hair curled into ringlets, giggling beside her brother as he tried in vain to touch the floor with his toes. How young they had been, so blissfully ignorant of all the troubles in the world. Their greatest desire only to grow tall enough so their legs would no longer sway whenever they were seated. And with that thought, she swept into the adjoining room, blood red nightgown billowing elegantly at her bare feet as she welcomed the flood of memories and emotions that the new room awakened within her.

\---

As the days passed, Cheryl moved around the grounds of Thornhill Manor, singularly focused on restoring the property to its former glory. Imported silks were flown in to replace the old linen used within the bedrooms. Specialists were called to remove the worn, yellowing wallpaper to expose the natural, mahogany walls underneath. The old carpets were discarded and in their place, luxurious Persian rugs covered the freshly waxed flooring. Slowly the interior dwellings were made contemporary, all while retaining a Victorian touch, an appreciative nod to the original decor.

Though the estate was situated on the northernmost point in Riverdale, the nearest neighbor miles away, word of the comings and goings of delivery trucks soon began to circulate the small town. The locals began to whisper about the unknown individual moving into the long unoccupied residence, for no one had lived in the manor since the Blossoms some two hundred years ago. It was well known that the property was the most grand in all of Riverdale, encompassing not only the mansion but the surrounding acres of land. Anyone who had the means to afford such a magnificent home had wealth the small town had never seen before, and that was enough to get the older generation talking feverishly amongst themselves.

As curious as the residents were to catch a glimpse of the mysterious newcomer, Cheryl remained unseen. Whilst strangers worked to clean years of dust and disuse from her home, she stood in the deepest recesses, only providing direction from intentionally, unlit corners. It was only under the guise of night that Thornhill Manor's wrought iron gates unlatched allowing the silk cloaked beauty to slip into the darkness. 

Remaining hidden in the shadows within and beyond the walls of her luxurious fortress would be an unfortunate necessity. Before she allowed herself to be seen, Cheryl wished to better understand the town and the dynamics of its people. Once she revealed herself to the public, she would be watched and discussed as only an outsider would be in such a tight knit community. When the proper time to present herself came, she needed to be sure to display herself in a perfectly contrived facade, one that fit seamlessly into the delicate threads of Riverdale's society.

She glided along the deserted streets, exploring, her pale, ivory skin contrasting sharply against the darkness that surrounded her. To her displeasure, she quickly gathered that her earlier assumptions had been correct, the town lacked for entertainment. No art galleries, no music halls, and no museums. For one cursed to walk alone for eternity, she lived for the comfort of the senses. Not for the first time, Cheryl wondered why she had been drawn back when it seemed that the small town held nothing but memories of a past life.

In her wanderings, the vampire discovered that Riverdale was not completely without its entertainment establishments. There was a theatre, the _Bijou, _a pair of nightclubs, bars littered throughout the southern boundary of the sleepy town, but what truly caught her attention was a secondary theatre, the _Twilight_. Much to her dissatisfaction, Cheryl had seen the decline of the drive-in theatre first hand during the 70s. It delighted her to have one within arm's reach. 

She had wonderful memories of viewing films all while enjoying the night breeze and seducing her way into the backseat of cars for both sustenance and sensual pleasure. The drive-in theatre had experienced its Golden Era between the 50s and 70s. In the midst of that nostalgic period, the sexual revolution of the 60s had begun and for the beautiful vampire that had meant carnal indulgence. Though she never had much issue finding an eager companion for the night, the movement had changed attitudes around sex. Women who had at one time shied away from their same sex attractions became openly curious and receptive to her advances. 

It was a wonderful time.

A smile played on her lips as she relished in the lust filled memories, but the edges of her mouth turned downward when she came to a stop in front of a large building. The words _Riverdale High School _were stenciled into the stone face of the structure. The educational institution itself wasn't to blame for her abrupt turn of mood. It simply caused another disappointing realization.

Cheryl had explored the entire town without coming upon a single university. In her years of traveling from populous city to city, never had she gone without stepping foot within their most respected centers for academia. Her thirst for knowledge knew no bounds. She grew accustomed to sitting in on lectures where she could learn all about the 19th century movements of Romanticism, Impressionism and Realism and how those illustrious art periods paved the way for Post-Impressionism and Cubism. She had perfected her technique and process of observation by participating in life-drawing workshops at the University of Oxford. The professor so enamored by her beauty and talent that he allowed her to sit in knowing full well that she was not a student. 

The frown on her face deepened, morphing into an almost petulant pout. Her privileged mortal life paired with the freedom that was allowed by her vampirism had granted all her wants easily. She was not accustomed to having to go without her desires fulfilled. Her shift in mood could be deemed as childish and immature, but if she were forced to walk this earth until she met her true death, she felt having the world and all its treasures at her fingertips to be a fair tradeoff. 

\---

After exploring the town end to end, the brooding vampire began the journey back to Thornhill, but was surprised to cross paths with a lone figure on the street - it was quite late after all. As they walked towards each other, his features became clearer, a man appearing to be in his late forties, clothing rumpled and gait stumbling due to drink. She ducked her head, intending to pass silently. However, a firm, large hand reached to take her arm in a less than gentle grip.

"A pretty girl like you shouldn't be walking these streets so late at night." Malice dripped from his voice and his footing quickly became steady and sure, his drunken stumble nothing but a ruse. 

How Cheryl hated men at times but still, it wasn't often that her meals fell so willingly into her lap. 

Donning a look of fear, she peered into the man's clear, dark eyes, "Please," she quivered. At her desperate sounding whimper, an ill intentioned glint shone through in the man's pupils as a grin curled at his lips, so certain he was of his control. Cheryl almost felt something akin to pity but it disappeared quickly, too amused with the idea of playing with her food. 

"People might get the wrong idea, you wandering the streets alone...," his hand dared to slide down her waist, "...wearing something like_ this_." A meaty hand groped at her hip in emphasis.

She fought the urge to snap the bones in his offending hand. He had sullied her favorite silk cloak, tainted it with his disgusting desire to have her against her will. 

Her bottom lip trembled, feigning hopelessness and a single tear trickled down her ivory cheek. Silently she applauded herself for putting on such theatrics. It would make the joy of seeing the realization dawn in his eyes that much sweeter, but by then, it would be too late.

"No use crying, bitch." The insult spat out from thin, dry lips.

Anger surged through her body at the derogatory name, but still, she allowed the man to drag her into a side alley. Her back hit the brick wall aggressively, and a false moan of pain fell from her lips. 

"Just what I like to hear," he whispered against her ear, hands making a movement toward her chest.

In a blink of an eye, their positions were reversed. A hoarse gasp escaped his mouth and his eyes widened in surprise. One delicate, pale hand pressed against his chest, keeping his back flat against the hard wall. When the man finally came out of his stupor, he attempted a step forward but was held firmly in place. He dropped his gaze to the feminine hand on his chest, not understanding. 

Cheryl tucked a cool finger under his chin, forcing their eyes to meet and leaned forward. Like countless times before, she allowed the hunger to wash over her. The darkness of her pupils bled out into the white of her scleras, so that her eyes became entirely black and luminous in the moonlight hanging above them. The man stared with his mouth gaping, transfixed and unbelieving.

"Silly _human_," she pronounced dramatically, feeling her incisors lengthen at the sound of the man's quickening heart rate. Her eyes remained on his as she watched them lower to her mouth, the smell of his fear thickened as he witnessed the slender pointed teeth grow. 

The vampire slid her free hand up the man's chest teasingly slow, circling it around his neck before digging her long fingers into the short hairs at the nape of his neck. With a sharp yank and a cry of panic, the man's neck was exposed. His heart rate had accelerated so much that the frantic pulse caused the skin of his neck to lift slightly with each pump of his veins. 

Cheryl brushed her nose along the man's throat, inhaling deeply as if she were seeking the primary aroma of a vintage Bordeaux wine. The smell of his blood, surprisingly, wasn't tainted by drugs or other illicit substances. It was above average, only lessened by a poor diet and alcohol. 

"It is ungentlemanly to assume that a woman desires your company," she spoke against the shell of his ear, her crimson lips brushing against delicate cartilage with every whispered word. "You must always ask for permission, for consent."

She felt him nod his head fervently and pulled away from his neck to look directly into his eyes.

"Was it your wish to penetrate me?" She waited patiently for his answer but no response came. "Now, now, it's time for honesty. Speak soon," the vampire urged.

"Y-yes," he uttered brokenly, "I'm sorry!"

Cheryl sighed, "Tsk, tsk." The facade of patience and understanding slipped from her features, only to be replaced with a scowl of disgust. "Unfortunately for you, it is _I _that will be penetrating _you_ tonight."

She surged forward, fangs tearing into the flesh of his throat. Right before the addictive tang of his blood entered her salivating mouth, the stink of urine met her nose. _Coward_ was the last thought that flit through her mind before the overwhelming pleasure of drinking fresh blood coursed through her body. And she drank deeply, eyes rolling in satisfaction and arousal.

The man was left unconscious, slumped over in a pool of his own liquid waste. He would wake embarrassed, but his memories would be a hazy mess of nothingness. It was too lenient of a punishment, but in a town so small, a body would only arouse unwanted attention.

\---

Letting the silk cape fall from her shoulders and pool at her feet, Cheryl hummed contently as she entered the walls of Thornhill. She traipsed up the main staircase and opened the doors to the library with a flourish. Basking in the sweet afterglow of feeding, the redhead ran her fingertips along the leather bound books that lined the shelves. In these moments of mental clarity, she preferred delving into cerebral pastimes, making the most of her fast acting mind. 

Upon locating the book she sought, she fell gracefully into her father's old chair, reupholstered in a deep wine to match the dark tones of the rest of the manor. Her fingers caressed the worn leather of the book cover, dipping slightly into the stamped, golden lettering of the title. Finally, she flipped the book open, inhaling deeply at the distinctive smell of old paper pages. 

As she read how Frankenstein's monster was grafted together from cadavers and reanimated by the use of electricity, her mind strayed as it usually did when reading something she had already read numerous times before. She thought of Riverdale and its unrelenting pull. Thought of the lack of artistic stimuli. Finally, she thought of the lack of higher education in the picturesque but ultimately tedious town. 

An undignified groan fell from her mouth and she shut the book in despair. The thought of having to live out the rest of her days in boredom made her want to rip her own heart from her chest, giving herself the true death. She couldn't bear the reverberating noise that would soon reach her ears if she were to leave. Cheryl was truly stuck and it infuriated her. 

Standing abruptly, she began to pace the length of the library. Her clear mind thought diligently on how to work herself out of such a dire situation, but it was soon evident that she would have to remain in Riverdale. Though the town was without the charms that the vampire longed for, there was a reason her instincts had pulled her back home. With a despondent sigh, she submitted to the idea of staying. 

Continuing to pace, her mind mulled over ways to keep herself entertained. Her physical features allowed her to play between the ages of seventeen to her mid twenties. With the absence of a university, Cheryl came to the conclusion that Riverdale was a town where families raised their children and when those children grew to be teenagers graduating from high school, they ultimately left town for college. She was left with either playing a high school student or a young adult who whiled away her days doing nothing. God forbid she take on something as pedestrian as a job. Her body shuddered at the thought.

Never had Cheryl stepped foot in a high school. In her mortal life, she had been homeschooled and it had only been within the last sixty years that she, as a woman, had been allowed entrance onto university grounds. She supposed attending high school would be better than nothing. It would, at least, be a new experience and she was surprised to find that she was even a little excited by the idea.

The vampire left the library laughing, imagining her 200 year old self walking amongst teenage mortals. The course material would hardly be challenging but maybe she could find entertainment and satire in the silly lives of the adolescent youth. 

A good laugh is really all she could hope for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (So there was a bit of attempted assault in this chapter and I wasn't sure if I needed to add a tag or warning in the beginning notes since we were in Cheryl's POV and she's a badass vampire. Let me know if you think this needs a warning)
> 
> Anyway, per usual, let me know what you guys are thinking! Are you loving it, hating it, confused, gimme dat feedback. Also, if you couldn't tell, we're going to be seeing highly anticipated character(s) soon!


	4. Costume

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the semi awaited chapter!

Boxes and tissue paper were strewn about the floor in the master bedroom of Thornhill Manor. The considerably sized bed, encased by an elaborate French Victorian headboard and footboard, was littered with beautiful blouses, form fitting denim and classically flared dresses, all with their price tags still fastened to their interior labels.

Even as a child, Cheryl always held a special place in her heart for fashion. Often she would refuse to dress in the clothes set aside by her caretakers, instead, she would throw tantrums, the repetitive beat of her tiny fists were dulled by thick carpeting until the help finally gave in to her petulance. And when clothed in the dress of _her_ choosing, she would be off, only stopping at the top of the formidable staircase, taking them slowly, one at a time, each foot meeting on the same step, until she touched both feet onto the foyer. Without a moment's breath, she would dash into the dining room, proud smile bulging her cheeks, only growing larger when her young eyes perceived the pride glowing in mother and father's eyes while they laid the blame on the caretakers.

Their status and wealth allowed the Blossom family to stay abreast on the latest English fashions. As money was no issue, they would order clothing custom made to their measurements from London. Their ongoing patronage allowed Cheryl to repeatedly send back dresses for alterations if they were not up to par. Frustrated and impatient, she began to include sketches of what each dress should look like when their mail orders were sent off. Through this, her love for drawing was born.

As the years passed in her vampiric life and fashion evolved from bespoke to _prêt-à-porter_, she began to see clothing as not only a means for self expression but a tool to seamlessly blend in from one decade to the next. The appropriate clothing allowed Cheryl to submerge herself in the daily life of mortals without drawing any suspicion. Clothing became the costume the vampire used to step into the role of defiant flapper of the 1920s. Bathed in satin that clung to her womanly curves, it was how she emulated the glamour of Hollywood's young starlets during the period of Escapism in the midst of the Great Depression.

She turned a blind eye to the absurd influence on fashion that pop culture had in the 80s, and rebuffed the idea that bigger was better. When the majority of women teased their hair and embraced padded shoulders, Cheryl held onto minimalism. She preferred the subdued tones popular in the early 80s, a stark contrast to the overwhelming flashiness and overabundance of colors that marked the mid and later years.

The vampire stood now in front of the floor length mirror, appraising the fit of the newly purchased lambskin leather jacket. The material felt buttery and sumptuous against her bare arms. The moto look was on trend, had been for the past few years, a clear reemergence from its popularity back in the 50s. She had seen many young women wear similar silhouettes in Manhattan and thought it would make a staple piece in her new wardrobe, which had been carefully curated to fit the role of an eighteen year old entering her final year of high school.

While Cheryl had passed the time waiting, rather impatiently, for the delivery of parcels, she considered the story she would ultimately share with her new peers. The vampire assumed there would be many with questions. So, in her musings, she wove together a depth filled history that needed little convincing to ring true. She decided she would not lie regarding her surname. Nor would she lie about her abundant wealth. She would not lower her standard of living simply to conform, for the best lies were the ones with a shadow of truth. Lies that did not take effort to maintain.

She would be Cheryl Blossom, last living heir to the Blossom fortune, who at the turn of her eighteenth birthday had left her strict guardians to experience a more "normal" adolescence far from private schooling and social grooming. The decorative details were prepared readily in her mind if any were so curious.

\---

Another fortnight passed before the vampire felt that everything was arranged to her liking. The remainder of her new wardrobe had arrived and since then, she had ventured into town during daylight, properly dressed in her new costumed facade, hoping to observe the dynamics between the residents. Unlike Manhattan, simply walking through the streets during the afternoon hours did not shed much light on the relationships between locals. The townspeople were busy with their vocational obligations and almost barren streets only experienced a surge when the residents left their offices in search of lunch or when the clock signaled the end of the workday. It was during the weekend that the sleepy town found its energy. The youth, free from school, loitered in the streets and filled any establishment that offered food or fun or a union of the two.

During one such visit into town, she had found herself in a charming diner with an aesthetic firmly rooted in the 50s. The distinctive croon of Elvis Presley floated out from a jukebox and wove itself amongst the sound of tinkling cutlery and lively conversation. The bellchime above the door announced her entrance and while the diner did not fall into silence, the bustling sounds of the busy establishment lessened considerably. The presence of a young, beautiful stranger in a small town was not something to go unnoticed.

While seated at the bar, waiting for food that was ordered simply for show, her enhanced hearing allowed her to isolate and eavesdrop on the numerous conversations coalescing around her. To a mere mortal, the sound would be nothing more than an incomprehensible jumble of noise, with her heightened physical senses however, Cheryl was able to tune in and out from each. She found herself to be included in most conversations, a passing remark here, a deeper discussion there, however none were entertaining enough to capture her attention for long. Until she heard a group of young mortals in the corner booth wondering if she attended Riverdale High. Turning slightly on the stool, Cheryl discreetly observed the adolescent boys who were clothed in matching letterman jackets, vibrant yellow 'R' patches stitched prominently against rich blue.

She fixed her hearing on their exchange, and the background clamor of the diner receded, making it appear as if the words were spoken right beside her, crisp and clear.

"_Dude, of course she doesn't go to Riverdale. Look at her! I would have noticed _that_._"

"_Yeah, but she looks our age..._"

"_There's always Baxter High. The girls are way hotter over there_."

A slight downward pull tugged at Cheryl's full mouth. As curious as she was to learn about the institution she would soon be attending, the thought of subjecting herself to mindless drivel in no way appealed to her. Before she was able to turn forward again and allow the background noises to filter back in, she overheard the three young men encourage their supposed group leader to approach her.

Now _this_ would be entertaining.

After a few moments, her focused hearing picked up on the sound of rubber soles meeting black and white checkered flooring as the brave, young man made his approach. She waited patiently, eager to interact with her soon to be peer and to hear his pathetic attempt at wooing. An arm clad in yellow leather leaned against the bar beside her, yet even after long seconds had passed, no formalities were made.

Ah. Much like her, here was someone accustomed to attention.

Amused, Cheryl turned to face a tall, young man with slight Asian features. His bone structure was worthy of admiration, a strong jawline, high cheekbones and lips that appeared naturally pursed. Admittedly, he was handsome.

"Reggie," he offered with disinterest, raking his hand through his coiffed hair with practiced familiarity. His eyes roamed around the diner in feigned apathy before they finally landed on hers expectantly.

Cheryl waged an internal battle with herself. Much of her struggle was composed of suppressing the urge to return his expectant stare with an unimpressed one, never uttering a single word. It was one of her preferred methods to do away with solicitors. The prolonged silence usually turned their confidence to embarrassment, a sight truly entertaining to behold. Nonetheless, it was a kinder response than he deserved. It was clear that this, _Reggie_, held himself on such a pedestal that he believed his mere presence brought women to their knees.

After a moment passed, she succumbed to reason. Though she ached to send him away with silence or biting words, soon he would be her schoolmate and she had no intention of drawing more attention to herself than necessary.

"Cheryl," she said, donning a false smile.

A slow grin spread over his face, one that had the underlying impression of victory. She watched with curious eyes as he bent forward with his elbows resting against the bar top, his face now level with hers. His movements conveyed confidence and a certain awareness of his physical features. She continued to watch as he took in her face, eyes first, then lips, lingering there for a moment, before they unabashedly roamed to her chest and finally to her legs that were crossed at the ankles against the stool.

"Haven't seen you around before. You new here?" He dared to ask even before his eyes made their way back from their downward descent upon her body.

"I am," she answered cooly.

He leaned in further, "Well, if you need someone to show you around-"

"Appreciative as I am," she interrupted before he could complete his thought, "I'll be much too busy acclimating myself to a new school, Riverdale High."

She scoffed inwardly as he stood up straight with a smug smirk, pulling his jacket taut against his chest, making sure the letter patch was displayed prominently.

"Me and my boys," he jerked his head toward the booth his companions were seated in, all three watching their interaction, "run that school." He adjusted his letterman jacket once more, before beating his fist against the 'R', which was answered by a sharp chant of "Bulldogs, Bulldogs, Bulldogs!" His friends beat their fists against the table in time with their words. Cheryl assumed she was supposed to be impressed by such a display.

She was decidedly _not_.

Instead, as she was deluged with football jargon, Cheryl reminisced on her own adolescent years. She had never been one for sports. As a lady of high society in the 1800s, her daily activities consisted of delighting in a bath when the first rays of sunlight filtered through the curtains, one prepared especially for her, with rose petals, and heated water, a luxury even for the wealthy. She would bathe herself leisurely until the water cooled to a tepid measure. If she had accidentally wet her hair, she would curl it until her mirror image was met with a picture of cascading ringlets.

Early afternoons were spent on general education, reading, writing and simple arithmetic. While men were allowed to attend university, women were not. Receiving an education as a woman was just another luxury reserved for the upper class.

The only form of exercise she had been allowed to partake in were her late afternoon walks around the grounds of Thornhill. And only long enough to bring a rosy tint to her cheeks, never to perspire, _god forbid_. Often she would be accompanied by the daughters of her mother's friends, who had been called over for afternoon tea. After her Debutante Ball, Cheryl's once enjoyable walks were swiftly replaced with strolls alongside potential suitors, each eagerly courting her in hopes to become engaged to the beautiful, young heiress to the Blossom fortune.

Naturally, her thoughts turned to her betrothed and her stomach turned. Even after years upon years of distance from that point in her life, the memory could still elicit emotion within her. It was both a burden and a gift to feel much more vividly than mortals. When it came to aesthetic passions, heightened emotions were beautiful, yet they were juxtaposed by the intense, internal suffering brought on by painful memories.

Before Cheryl could fall prey to her inner demons, she was graciously pulled from her thoughts when a paper bag was set in front of her.

"Order for Miss Cheryl," the elderly gentlemen gave her a friendly smile.

"Thank you, Pop." Cheryl smiled in return.

The man had recognized her as a new face immediately, offering a sweet treat on the house as a warm welcome. A strawberry milkshake had been his guess for her choice but she declined courteously, claiming she was not one for sweets. Only a partial truth.

Reggie had not ceased in his monologue, even in the midst of her exchange with Pop. It was impressive, if only in its absurdity.

"Well," she lifted the bag and shook its contents gently, "I'll be off now." He almost looked startled, as if wondering where her order had appeared from. "Thank you for the rather..._stimulating_ conversation," she added, unable to refrain from some form of cheek.

A smug smile pulled at his full mouth. It appeared Reggie was not one for the nuances of subtlety. "Remember what I said about the Vixens," his eyes wandered along her frame again, "You'd look great in the uniform." He flashed what she considered his version of a boyish smile.

It was grotesque.

"And uh," Reggie reached for the plastic glass of water that she had left untouched, taking a long drink before speaking again, "if you play your cards right, maybe we can run the school together."

Cheryl had hardly listened to Reggie long enough to understand the meaning behind 'Vixens', but she was, in every respect, finished with his insolence towards her, intentional or not.

"Mm, I'm sure I'll be able to manage finding my place in the social rankings of Riverdale High quite well." She graced him with a look of disgust, before adding, "Especially so without you desperately trailing along behind me."

And with that, she had stood from her stool, and strode out of the diner.

\---

A cherry red 1961 Chevrolet Impala pulled into the lot. Moments later, D'Orsay pumps settled onto the gravel, the height of the heel exuded confidence and control, the suede strap crossing delicate ankles promised an undeniable femininity.

The hollow, staccato click of high heels against concrete rose in vibrato, becoming sharper, more musical, as concrete gave way to waxed linoleum and long, alabaster legs passed through the threshold, finally entering the hallways of Riverdale High.

Ever curious mocha eyes took in the glittery gleam of the polished floor, the muted, pastel green lockers lining the walls and the bright lights that gave the corridors a sense of energy on a particularly gloomy Monday morning. Cascading waves of glossy red hair swayed gently as the slender figure made her way down the hall, observing a number of pupils milling in the hallways, idly passing the time on their cellphones, tablets and other technological devices.

But as the sound of her high heels echoed against the walls in her approach, the once distracted youth tore their eyes away from easily forgotten devices and found themselves fixated on beauty they had never witnessed before, beauty they would not soon forget.

Cheryl often wondered if such a reaction had more to do with her heightened physical beauty or the seductive pull of her vampirism. Regardless, it was a reaction that she had long ago become accustomed to. Mortals, heterosexual and homosexual, men and women, all seemed to fall in lust at first sight.

Those she passed began to eagerly speak in hushed tones with their peers, their lowered voices hiding nothing from her acute hearing.

_"Who is she?"_

_"Bro."_

_"Did you see that girl?!"_

_"I'm straight but like..."_

_"Where'd she come from?"_

_"So that's the new girl Reggie was going on about."_

So, Reggie had spoken about her. Cheryl was in no way surprised. Her lone encounter with him had told her a significant amount about the boy. Cheryl only hoped it wasn't in any way that garnered her any more attention than her appearance already had.

Upon entering the administrative office, she spoke with Ms. Bell, the secretary and a severe looking woman, who handed over a piece of paper detailing her class schedule. The minutes seemed to drag as she drummed slender fingers against the wooden arms of the chair she was seated in, waiting rather impatiently for a member of the student body council to arrive. She had been designated a guide to give her a proper tour of the school grounds. Highly unnecessary as it would only take mere moments for her to become familiarized with the school's design. All she needed was a few minutes to do so, just another benefit of her vampiric speed and near photographic memory.

With ever growing boredom, she eyed the doorway, livening slightly anytime anyone entered the office. Finally, after what seemed like ages, a tall, broad shouldered boy with neatly styled hair and a kind face walked in. Dressed in a burgundy crewneck sweater over an oxford shirt, he looked like the poster boy for preppy. Cheryl stood as she caught his eyes wandering around the opposite side of the office, clearly searching for something or someone. The click of her heels brought his attention towards her and she looked on with disinterest as his eyes widened, taking her in.

"_Oh my god_, if I were a woman, I'd want to be you," he deadpanned.

A faint smile ghosted along her plump lips. Colour her amused.

"Sorry," he shook his head as if to come out of his daze, "I'm Kevin Keller, student body president, also known as your tour guide this morning."

"Cheryl Blossom," she answered succinctly, following along beside him as they left the office, walking into the much more populated hallway.

"Blossom?" He turned to her, "any relation to the Blossoms that used to live in Riverdale back in the day?"

"Distantly."

"Wait a minute."

She turned on her heels to face Kevin as he had stopped in his tracks, her curious look meeting his look of dawning realization.

"You moved into the old Blossom mansion." Kevin didn't wait for her to confirm. "Everyones been trying to get a glimpse of you!" He was filled with excitement, it was as if he had just discovered it was his birthday. "Oh god, you're definitely sitting with me during lunch. I've got so many questions for you."

They began walking down the hall again, a few more questions were asked of her, but to Cheryl's surprise, she found his enthusiasm to be endearing.

"Riverdale High opened its doors in 1941..." His well practiced speech began with a brief history. As she listened intently, she found herself more and more entertained. Often the boy would interrupt himself to tilt his head towards someone he felt significant enough to offer a few words on.

"Those are the jocks, Chuck, Reggie and last, but certainly not least, Moose Mason." A quick glance at Kevin confirmed her suspicions.

"Handsome," she stated. "Yours?" The tease evident in her cadence.

"No, but don't get any ideas," he countered with a pointed look.

"Oh, I assure you, I offer you no competition," a smile pulled at the edges of her lips.

"Okay, so over here, we've got the student lounge. Home to the best couches and snack machines in all of Riverdale High," he stated with an exaggerated flourish of his arms.

"Enchanting."

Cheryl continued to listen as Kevin pointed out special rooms and special people. The halls had become filled as the first bell was imminent, the clamor grew as lockers slammed shut and classroom doors swung open. The stimuli of it all had her gaze darting to and fro just to take everything in. The freshmen stood out, being smaller in stature, expressions of confusion clear on their faces. She watched as one built up the courage to approach two girls deep in conversation. The taller girl had her back to Cheryl, while her friend faced in her direction but was hidden behind the figure of the former.

The girl who had been concealed from view leaned closer to the freshmen, listening before straightening and pointing down the hallway. Cheryl regarded her with interest, her profile only becoming visible in brief moments as the passing stream of students obscured her view time and again.

But what Cheryl had seen certainly piqued her interest.

Her gaze lingered, longer than it had on anything or anyone, indulging in long, wavy blonde hair and a complexion that seemed sun kissed in how it glowed with life. Surely there was some poetic irony there, to be so immediately drawn to beauty that radiated health and life while she herself was as pale as ivory and just as lifeless as the beautiful ornaments crafted from the highly coveted material.

Still, Cheryl's eyes followed the girl's movements as she looked back to the retreating figure of the freshman, only to quickly look forward again. The subtle shaking of her friend's back insinuated they had shared words and a laugh. The parting of full lips revealed perfectly straight, white teeth and a hint of pink tongue. And if the sight didn't cause a montage of particularly racy scenes to flash through her mind then Cheryl would be a teller of lies.

Kevin's words fell on deaf ears as they steadily approached the pair leaning against the wall. Even through the noise of countless conversations and hurried footfalls, it seemed the distance had lessened enough that the resonating click of her heels were able to reach the ear of her newfound interest, and suddenly her own mocha eyes were met with a pair of darker brown. The once carefree smile of the unnamed beauty slowly faded the longer their eyes remained connected. For the vampire, it was if the roles were reversed, that somehow it was she that had fallen under the spell of desire.

"Heathers," Kevin's voice pronounced, causing her to break eye contact at the mention of the name, "that's what we put on last year," he added as he guided her down an adjacent hallway. She stood silently in her displeasure as he showed her the auditorium, wishing silently that they had continued down the main hallway, if only to learn whether or not the blonde was lauded enough to be granted a place on Kevin's list of special people.

\---

Morning classes passed without much excitement from the uninspired vampire. She was introduced formally to her peers in each and was met with looks of blatant interest, more so from her male counterparts, however she still felt the stare of curious eyes from the fairer gender. Though some were undoubtedly pretty, none quite caught her eye in the same way as the comely stranger from earlier that morning.

During math and science she busied herself with admiring her newly polished nails, shaped into rounded almonds, painted in a shade of carmine red. English Literature, however, garnered her full attention, and though the works of Shakespeare, Dickens, and Vonnegut were ones she was well acquainted with, true art, she believed, could be consumed countlessly without becoming tiresome. There was always some new undiscovered truth to be found in subsequent readings.

An unexpected frown formed on her lips when the bell announced the conclusion of class and the beginning of the lunch hour. Cheryl was quite content with sitting quietly in her chair reading past the noted chapter. With a sigh, she collected her textbooks and writing materials before following the rest of her classmates into the hallway. Though Kevin had excitedly repeated his request that she join him for lunch, it was only then that she realized he hadn't said where. With no destination in mind, she followed the stream of students who poured into the school courtyard.

It didn't take long for Cheryl to hear her name being called and as she looked towards the voice, she was met with the image of Kevin standing up from his seat, exuberantly waving her over. As she stepped closer, she was filled with disdain to find that Reggie too sat at the table, a smug expression visible as he watched her approach.

"Guys, this is Cheryl Blossom," Kevin announced before launching into introductions. "Reg-"

"Red," Reggie grinned, "knew you'd come find me on your first day."

Cheryl offered only a sneer in response.

"Moving on," Kevin joked. "Here we have our resident songbird, also known as my annoying stepsister, Josie McCoy."

"Oh hush, you know you love me," Josie countered before turning to face Cheryl. "Wow, so the rumors are true, gorgeous and," her eyes fell on the red blouse with an embellished collar, white suede skirt, and sky high heels, "a great sense of style. You definitely need to tell me where you shop."

She gave her a genuine smile. Her ego was nowhere as large as Reggie's but she could admit to being vain. Compliments and flattery were much appreciated.

"And her boyfriend, Chuck Clayton, varsity football, varsity wrestling, varsity-"

"Alright, alright, man, I think she gets it," Chuck laughed while giving Cheryl a quick nod, wrapping his arm around Josie's waist as she leaned into him.

She returned the gesture before taking a seat besides Kevin.

Cheryl simply listened as the table fell into comfortable conversation. Josie and Chuck made a beautiful pairing, naturally affectionate towards one another but not overwhelmingly so. His exceedingly masculine features were complemented by her contrasting soft features and slender frame. While the occasional kisses drew looks of false torment from Kevin, it was evident that he and Chuck shared a rapport.

"So Red," Reggie leaned forward in his seat on the other side of Kevin, "what's your story?"

"I prefer to be called Ch-"

"Well, look who decided to join us!" Kevin exclaimed.

Cheryl turned away from Reggie and once more found herself mesmerized in a way that was utterly foreign to her. She drank in the languid sway of hips, how they exuded a naturally occurring sensuality, not learned and most certainly not taught. She wanted to undress the slim yet shapely legs, if only to observe the movement free from material obstruction, as if she were an engineer peering beneath the hood to discover the magic of motion.

"We had to finish something up for the Blue and Gold," the blonde replied as she sat next to Josie, nudging her playfully.

"We've done introductions already but since I'm an excellent host, Cheryl these are Forsythe Pendleton Jones III and Antoinette Topaz."

"Yea, just Jughead is fine," the lanky boy corrected with a frown.

The blonde seemed surprised to find Cheryl at the table but quickly introduced herself properly. "Hey, it's Toni actually," she stated, giving Kevin a glare.

Cheryl extended a hand, it was entirely unnecessary and felt too formal for such an interaction, but she simply wanted a reason to _touch_.

"Pleasure," she said as soon as Toni's hand slipped into hers.

Her skin was smooth and _so, so_ soft, her handshake warm and inviting. She wondered what those hands would feel like against her own naked flesh. Or what those hands would look like bound at the wrist while she took her to heights of pleasure unknown. And when unbound, would they claw at her back or clutch at silken sheets or would she be obedient and keep them against the headboard?

"Anyway, I was asking bombshell a question before I was rudely interrupted," Reggie snorted, pulling Cheryl out of her brief sexual reverie.

She slowly retracted her hand from Toni's, watching as the girl immediately began to busy herself with the camera hanging from her neck.

"Bombshell?" She questioned with distaste.

"New nickname for my new girl," Reggie answered with a grin.

Chuck chuckled while Josie rolled her eyes.

Toni leaned towards Jughead presenting him with the back view of her camera. They began to discuss the image between themselves and Cheryl couldn't help but wonder about the nature of their relationship. At times Jughead would lift his gaze from the camera to look upon Toni's profile. The adoration was clear in his eyes. Were they lovers?

"As I was saying before, I prefer to be called Cheryl. Miss Blossom, if you feel so inclined," she turned to face Reggie. "And I'm certainly not your girl. Never have I been a man's _girl_ and I never will be."

She turned to see Toni's lips curl up into a smile at her words, gaze ever focused on her camera.

"C'mon Red, that's 'cause you've never tried _this _man before."

Letting out an exasperated scoff, she chose to simply ignore Reggie and his inability to perceive anything that wasn't stated explicitly, choosing instead to pass the time by observing the dynamics of the pair before her. There was certainly an intimacy present but unlike Chuck and Josie, they lacked in physical shows of affection.

"So Cheryl, what brings you to Riverdale?" Josie asked.

"The same old tale of coming into one's inheritance at the turn of their eighteenth birthday and escaping the clutches of overbearing guardians," she answered airily.

Toni laughed, "And your first thought was to come to Riverdale of all places?"

Cheryl leaned forward, "Riverdale holds a rich family history for the Blossoms. While I was always made aware of it, I never had the chance to visit the birthplace of my ancestors in my youth."

"Fair enough, _Miss Blossom_," Toni teased.

A devilish smile appeared on Cheryl's face. Oh how she liked the sound of that, especially falling from Toni's lips.

"Where'd you come from?" Reggie asked before Cheryl was able to respond to Toni.

"If you mean to inquire about where I lived previously, France."

"Really?" Toni asked, eyes gleaming with interest. "Paris is definitely one of the top places to visit on my list."

Cheryl nodded, "_La Ville Lumière_. Paris is a beautiful place for beautiful things. A myriad of art. The architecture, the fashion, the culture," she gestured to Toni's camera, "truly an artist's dream."

She watched as Toni smiled brightly while leaning forward, unconsciously mirroring her own posture. Her distractingly plump lips parted as if to ask another question but she was interrupted by Reggie.

"Chill with the questions, Topaz. I'm trying to get to know my future girlfriend over here."

Toni laughed, shaking her head in amusement while Cheryl inwardly chastised the boy for being unreasonably daft.

In the midst of answering a volley of questions from Reggie, Toni and Jughead began speaking anxiously with one another. They stood abruptly from their seats causing the rest of the table to fall in confused silence at their behavior.

"Sorry guys, Jug totally forgot that we need another shot for the article going up at the end of the week," Toni explained, playfully pushing the boy, "we'll see you guys later."

The pair walked around the table, but before they could pass, Cheryl was met with the alluring fragrance of vanilla and jasmine. Even with her sensitive sense of smell, she still desired to press her nose into warm, soft skin and inhale deeply. She was accustomed to women wearing expensive perfume that stubbornly clung to her clothing after the briefest of intimate touches, but this scent was more subtle than an _Eau de Toilette_.

The fragrance became stronger as Toni bent to whisper into her ear, "Reg is a bit much, but don't worry, not all the guys here are _that_ bad."

Cheryl turned to stare intently into dark brown eyes, before allowing herself to boldly roam over the flawless face before her, lingering on the beauty mark just above the left side of her lip. _A new discovery in a subsequent reading_.

"And what of the girls?" She asked, arching a perfectly shaped eyebrow, a playful smile pulling at the edges of her mouth.

She watched as a smooth brow furrowed momentarily before the tension eased and became smooth again but this time accompanied by the beginnings of a smile.

"Come on Toni, we only have fifteen minutes to knock this out!" Jughead voice called out.

Cheryl was met with an apologetic look before she was staring at the retreating figure of perhaps the most captivating mortal she had met in quite some time. And though she did not know much about Antoinette Topaz, she did know that her scent was fleeting and she had the strongest urge to chase after it so that it never dissipated completely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So what did y'all think? We met some familiar Riverdale faces, namely Toni! And that's right, she's blonde in this AU, fight me. Did their first interaction go as you imagined? Talk to me, damnit.


	5. Red Rose

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back, bitches.

The cool evening air lifted wisps of russet colored hair, the strands dancing in the gentle wind before settling once again among its sistren. Cheryl tucked an errant lock behind her ear as she continued along the stone walkway of the garden path, relishing in the pleasant fragrance of the newly planted rose bushes that lined the edges of the pathway. Despite the darkening sky, the rich, red hue of the hybrid tea roses stood stark against the lush green of the bush leaves.

Cheryl felt a new appreciation for tranquil moments like these. Days had passed and though she was slowly becoming accustomed to her new way of life, she found it difficult to adjust to this particular immersion.

All her previous facades had been mere costume changes, simply donning the appropriate fashions to fit the changing decades. But as a highschool student she was bound to a rigid schedule. Each weekday she arrived at the doors of Riverdale High just before first bell, and for the next seven hours she was forbidden to leave. Most lectures were colourless, save for English Literature, and it seemed that she and her peers were united in mutual apathy; their animation only returning during the brief reprieves between classes and the lunch hour.

After the first week of spending long hours surrounded by others, the weekend found Cheryl seeking solitude within the walls of her manor. In hindsight, it wasn't so difficult to comprehend the delay in her acclimation. For the past sixty years, she had travelled much of Europe with only herself as a companion. Quiet and reflection had become the ordinary and for some foolish reason she had thought it a fine idea to throw herself headlong into forced interactions.

The vampire hadn't felt as taxed after the second week but she still found herself alone, among her garden flowers on a Saturday evening. She reached out a hand, letting slender fingers graze gently against vibrant, healthy leaves and dipping them in between parting petals as she continued her way along the stone path. Only pausing at roses that were in full bloom, she rubbed the petals between the pads of her thumb and forefinger, momentarily fascinated by their smooth almost leathery texture.

She had grown up with Thornhill's gardens boasting an assortment of fragrant flowers. Roses, lilacs, hydrangeas, along with an abundance of others, had welcomed visitors as their horse drawn carriages pulled across the small bridge that allowed passage over a gurgling stream. Pride was not a foreign emotion for the Blossoms, but mother had been especially prideful of her gardens. With caretakers and various persons of help walking the wings of the manor, Penelope Blossom tended to her flowers more than she did her children.

Yet, at the tender age of five, Cheryl was already well versed in the art of floral arrangement. Mother had turned her nose up at the mere thought of the help touching her prized possessions. With a sneer on her face she had announced that "_weathered and calloused hands were more suited to cleaning lavatories and childrearing than something as delicate as the caretaking of flowers_."

On occasion the Blossom matriarch, her nana, would join them outdoors. A young Cheryl would always feel lighter in the presence of her nana, thankful for not being alone under her mother's scrutinization. Though the elderly, white-haired woman would sometimes frighten the twins with her appearance, especially her cataract ridden left eye, they were quick to giggle at her often irreverent manner.

During one such visit, while she picked flower after flower with the little shears she had been entrusted with, careful to "_always cut the stem at an angle_,'' Nana Rose told her of the significance the rose had on the Blossom name.

"Just like my given name is Roseanne, the Blossom crest has roses twined around its edges for a reason, my dear child," she began, opening her arms and urging her to come forward into her lap.

"Mother, she is _busy," _Penelope had spat, angered at having her help taken away.

Dropping the shears with a clatter, her little legs carried her forward, the fabric of her knee length dress and petticoat scrunching, surely wrinkling as she clambered into her nana's waiting lap. She peered into the aged face above her, much more eager to be told a story than to waste another summer's day picking flowers for her mother.

"It's necessary that she hears the story of our surname, Penelope. Now see that you focus on your own task." Nana Rose said airily, quieting any further response from her daughter with a dismissive hand.

"Now Cheryl," Nana Rose had patted her leg, "do you know what the word blossom means?"

Even then she had been an avid reader. She nodded proudly, "to grow."

"Yes, that is certainly one of its meanings, dear, but its denotation is a flower."

Cheryl nodded eagerly, she would remember that, she liked words very, very much.

"It was passed down from generation to generation that our name was inspired by a flower, and not just any flower, but the red rose."

"Why, Nana?" She had inquired, hungry for the particulars.

She felt warm, shaky fingers card through the ringlets in her hair. "Red for our hair and fiery tendencies, but the rose in particular for their beauty and thorns."

Cheryl smiled, pleased with the discovery. She had been lavished, by mother and father's friends, with words of praise over her beauty on numerous occasions. But as quickly as the smile appeared, it was replaced with a frown.

"But Nana, thorns aren't good."

Her grandmother looked at her calmly, "My dear child, who's to say they're bad? They simply exist to protect the rose from those who are unworthy."

Cheryl had been astonished. She had always disliked thorns. She had pricked her fingers countless times when first helping her mother in the gardens.

"Thorns aren't bad," she repeated to herself.

"Some _are_," Nana Rose pointed a gnarled finger at Penelope's unsuspecting figure, "but the thorns of a rose are nothing but a deterrent to those who lack the guile to possess their beauty."

Ever since that day, red roses had become her favored flower.

But what stemmed from a child's love for a well told story transformed and took on new meaning as she grew. Cheryl still loved roses but the reasons for why became her own.

Their beauty, of course, was undeniable, especially true of the hybrid tea roses that now graced Thornhill's gardens. Even with the breeding of new species, and consequently the ever expanding genus Rosa, the red rose surpassed all. And though her preference for the particular flower could be deemed as mere opinion, the masses had also spoken, the popularity of the red rose only growing decade after decade.

Not one for beauty without depth, long list of casual lovers aside, their meaning, one of love, longing and desire spoke to the romantic in her. During her youth, she had yearned to feel even a glimmer of the love painted so reverently in sonnet and song. However as youth turned to adolescence, she began to understand the unique nature of her womanly wantings and so, roses became the symbolic form of the love she could never have. An unrequited love for women.

She had done away with her unnatural thoughts, pushing them to the dark recesses of her mind, praying their banishment would cause her urges to go dormant or disappear altogether. She refrained from lingering too long on tempting necklines, full bosoms and cinched waistlines. For all the world, she lived her lie perfectly, whispering behind laced gloved hands as handsome gentlemen passed, displaying manners of her highborn upbringing when suitors came calling, and taking extra care in her appearance when they did so. She accepted that her fate was to wed a man, knew it to be certain, still, her body ached to know a woman intimately.

The day she was to exchange marriage vows with her betrothed and be made a woman on their wedding bed, fate, whether in a show of mercy or cruelty, intervened. It was on her wedding night that she was turned, reborn and ushered into the world of immortality.

As a fledgling vampire, entirely unaware of what she had been thrusted into, she found herself horrified upon learning that she would need to feed on blood to survive. The unease in her stomach only growing when she learned that the blood of humans was the most nourishing. However her disgust was short lived as Marius's lessons in feeding began. She could only compare the first taste of human blood to heaven in liquid form. High praise from someone who prided herself on possessing a privileged palate.

It was through Marius's teachings that Cheryl came to understand the truth of vampires. That there were many like her, like them, but safeguarding their secrecy was paramount. She would no longer be able to return to her family, to her life, and it was then she began to think of vampirism as a curse. A curse that forced her to drink the blood of humans, to walk away from her loved ones and to never know the joys of a simple life.

Bemoaning and sulking at her ill fated destiny, Cheryl locked herself away, her emotions running rampant, their intensity driving her to near mental unbalance. Not uncommon for the newly turned. Marius, having sired a few in his long life, approached his newest progeny with patience and words of wisdom.

_"It would have been your end if not for eternal life. Were you truly prepared to meet death? Allow yourself to think not on what you've lost, but what you have gained."_

She turned his words over in her mind, tears continuing to spill down porcelain cheeks as his fingers ran idly through perfect curls, slowly undoing her distress with his comforting touch. His soft murmurings described faraway places he had been and wished her to see. But it was the ease at which he confessed his love affairs with beautiful women _and_ men that roused her attention. Marius's long lived years not only made him patient but unfailingly observant and so he continued to press the matter of the profound liberation that immortality could bring, something that resonated deeply within the young vampire. He beseeched her to explore her urges, especially those that felt taboo, to take advantage of what the world offered, _to indulge_.

And so she did.

It did not take long to lie with a woman. Even now she could recall how eager she had been, the desperate whimpers that had fallen from her lips as she mouthed over a pert breast, how arousing it had been to sheathe slender fingers into a soft, wet sex, to taste a woman’s desire.

_God_, to _taste_ it.

Her first lover's climax was a sight to behold, poetry in motion. Each pleasured cry a negation to her earlier notions. A stunning revelation.

She _was_ deserving of love.

Requited love.

A woman's love.

So the meaning of the red rose changed once more. No longer did it symbolize unrequited love but instead, a love not yet found.

Years of suppressing her natural desires had made her starved for a woman's affections. She explored her newfound sexual freedom in earnest, all while trying to keep Marius's words of caution fresh in her mind.

_"We are not to be known. No mortal can ever know of us, not of our true nature."_

At first she clung to each woman, her inexperienced mind confusing lust with love. But it only took until she found a new lover for the previous to be forgotten. And as she continued to seduce women into bed, the naivety of love at first sight fell by the wayside. She welcomed promiscuity and along with it, the powerful feeling of being a woman and having dominion over one's own body.

The years passed and the list of lovers grew. It was only inevitable that she found first love. While all the women she had laid with had been undeniably beautiful, they had also been undeniably human. So, with her heart closed off to mortals, it only stood to reason that she felt those telltale signs of love for one of her own kind. A gorgeous woman who oozed an effortless sophistication as only Parisian women did.

She found herself in London in the year 1953, the excitement swirling around the famous Flamingo Jazz Club not only led to Cheryl's introduction to rhythm and blues but also to the vampire she would spend the next half decade traveling the world with.

Their romance began as a casual tryst but soon enough lust gave away to love. Cheryl had never felt so beautiful, so _perfect_ in all her life. Words of praise were sung daily. Her beauty, her body, her demeanor, she was told, were what women should be modeled by. She drank every word in like she was starved for it.

Finding love stripped and changed the definition of the red rose yet again, but this time the meaning had come full circle. No longer did it mean unrequited love or a love not yet found, no, this time it simply meant love. Descriptors were not needed.

Until her and her lover were no more.

The parting affected Cheryl deeply. She had become accustomed to sharing her life with another. And while she had experienced more life than most, her knowledge on love was still in its infancy. Her education in the matter rooted in the old notions that love was forever, if it were true.

So the symbolic meaning of the red rose remained the same now as it did when it adopted its final interpretation.

True love.

One that wouldn't wither and die.

Lost in memories, Cheryl reached out to pluck a rose from the bush but her carelessness earned a prick from a protective thorn. She pulled her hand away instinctively only to see a drop of blood already pearling on the pad of her forefinger.

She couldn't help but be reminded of the mythical origin story of her favored flowers, the tragedy that befell Aphrodite and Adonis.

How Ares, known to be jealous of Aphrodite's lover, Adonis, had sent him on a hunt against a deadly boar. Aphrodite was only made aware at the last moment and rushed to be at her lover's side, scratching herself in her haste and spattering specks of blood on the petals of white roses, turning their blossoms red. Sadly, Aphrodite was too late and Adonis perished from a fatal wound.

And so the red rose was born from a tragic love story.

A meaning, Cheryl hoped, she would never find fitting for her beloved red roses.

\---

Time in the garden always relaxed her but nothing was more soothing than a long bath. Her supple skin exuded a mild fragrance from the oils of rose petals she had come to garnish her baths with, a habit kept from decades past. Freshly dressed in a silk robe, tied loosely at the waist, she had all the intention to curl up on the chaise lounge in the sitting room and pass the rest of the evening reading until the newly lit fire cooled to dwindling embers.

Cheryl, under the guise of reading, found herself mulling over conversations from previous weeks. Kevin had been incessant in his approach to begin a friendship and while she was not opposed, she was however, unsure.

Not of him, but of herself.

She had certainly looked the part each decade, no small part due to her impeccable taste in fashion but immersing herself into a group of mortals for a prolonged period of time was something she had never done before. Had never thought to do. But she quickly gathered that unlike university, highschool was navigated in groups. Who was she to turn down an offer that would only aid in her commitment to the role? And so, for the past two weeks, Cheryl found herself seated beside Kevin each day at lunch.

But it was one of Kevin's invitations that had brought on such a moment of mulling.

"So Friday nights, everyone goes to the football game and then gets drunk off cheap beer at the tailgate party at the Mallmart parking lot. Care to join?"

She couldn't disguise the immediate frown that suddenly appeared, which led to laughter from the majority of the group, aside from Reggie and Chuck who looked mildly offended. Participating in or simply spectating sports had never been something she took an interest in, but this particular celebration seemed rather undignified.

"I believe I have conflicting plans that evening," she lied.

"Girl, it's fine," Josie reached over to place a supportive hand on the table, "half of the time I only go to support my boo."

Chuck encircled Josie in his arms, "That's right, woman."

Josie leaned away from Chuck, "_Excuse you?_"

"I mean, thank you, baby."

Josie leaned her shoulder against his chest and rolled her eyes, "Mmhm."

"Well, if that isn't your thing, Saturday night is movie night, regardless of what's playing at the Twilight, and you better get there early because we don't have reserved seating in Riverdale," Kevin playfully teased at her big city background.

"Oh, I'm well aware of how drive-ins work, sweet Kevin and I'm certainly privy to the backseat rendezvous that tend to take place in such establishments" she bantered back, the mischief clear in her eyes.

Perceptive as ever, Kevin responded eagerly, "_Please_ be my friend."

But that had been the week previous when she had been too fatigued by the abundance of interactions to commit to a social call. Reggie had sidled up beside her first thing Monday morning, staring at the exposed skin of her thighs when complimenting her on the knee high boots she had worn and telling her how she had been missed over the weekend, only then turning it into a joke about the irony of Kevin living in button downs and sweaters and her in "designer everything" yet Cheryl being the homebody between the two.

It was that thought that caused Cheryl to shut the book that lay forgotten in her lap. She couldn't stay within the walls of Thornhill Manor forever, forgoing any semblance of teenage normalcy aside from attending her classes. The memory of Reggie comparing her to a recluse only hastened her steps up the staircase, her quiet night in becoming a fleeting echo in her mind.

It was time she fully embraced her character role as newly transferred highschool student, free from the shackles of strict guardianship and hungry for a true adolescent experience.

\---

The glossy sheen of the Chevrolet Impala caught the light from the towering screen as it pulled into an available space towards the entrance of the lot. Graveled stones crunched beneath thick rubber tires as the automobile slowed to a rumbling stop and crimson tipped fingers drummed along the grooves of the red leather steering wheel before a hand lowered, rotating the keys in the ignition.

A sweeping wave of nostalgia filled Cheryl's chest as her dark eyes wandered over the rows of cars before her. A similar scene flashed in her mind, but the sea of modern cars were replaced with models similar to the one she drove, all angles, leather and chrome, something she easily preferred over the rounded edges that dominated the design of automobiles in recent decades.

Ever curious, she observed those who meandered between the stationary cars, visiting others in neighboring spaces, which were only separated by metal poles that stood chest high, but stood out due to the brilliance of their white coating. The back area of the expansive lot teemed with the more raucous youth, their gleeful shouts and wolf whistles cut over the dialogue of stylized commercials that harkened back to the days of curly bobs, peter pan collars, and leather jackets. 

Kevin hadn't exaggerated, The Twilight Drive-In Theatre was indeed the Saturday night destination. Open spaces were quickly being filled as the hour for the film start readily approached. Even through closed windows, the distinct aroma of buttery, popped kernels wafted into the cabin of the Impala, sending a fresh batch of memories to the forefront of her mind.

Reminiscing about the past was halted at the sound of sharp tapping on the passenger side window. Knuckles still resting against the glass, Kevin's bent over frame and grinning face drew a surprised look from Cheryl.

"Thought I recognized the car!" Kevin exclaimed through the window before walking around the front to arrive at the driver side door.

"We're over near the middle of the pit, if you wanna join? I've got my truck and blankets."

Cheryl nodded, unlatching the car door and elegantly swung her long legs over the threshold.

"My lady," Kevin bowed, extending a hand.

"How chivalrous of you." She accepted the hand offered to her, standing gracefully before closing the door behind her and falling into easy step beside Kevin.

"Love the jacket by the way," he complimented.

Cheryl smirked, "What's more era appropriate than wearing a leather jacket to a drive-in theatre?"

"A poodle skirt?"

Cheryl gave him a hard look.

"Or not," Kevin muttered. "Come on, Sandra Dee and I mean the greaser version!" He hastened to clarify. "We're just over here." They walked a few more paces before stopping beside what appeared to be his car. "Ladies, look who I found!"

She hadn't even thought to ask who he was accompanied by, but easily recognized Josie and Toni huddled in blankets in the bed of Kevin's truck both of whom turned almost simultaneously at the sound of his voice.

"Hey girl, cute jacket," Josie greeted.

"Hi Cheryl."

And though she took a moment to relish in the deliciously husky yet feminine timbre that played along her ears, she didn't miss the clear look of intrigue in Toni's eyes.

A look, Cheryl knew, was matched in her own.

She stepped up into the truck bed, feeling Toni's intent gaze upon her as she advanced to seat herself beside the blonde.

"Thank you, Josie," she responded as she settled in among the blankets. "You don't mind if I take this seat, do you, Toni?"

Toni shook her head, eyes never parting from her own, "Not at all, Miss Blossom."

Cheryl arched an eyebrow, belying her surprise, _and satisfaction_, at the early banter. "And how long will I be referred to as such?"

The blanket covering Toni's chest and shoulders rose and fell as she shrugged with a grin, "'Til I get tired of it."

"Do I not have any say in the matter?"

Toni feigned deep thought. "Nah."

She sighed, "If there truly is nothing I can do..._Antoinette._"

Toni barked out a laugh, "Oh, that was dirty."

Cheryl couldn't help her smug expression. "I simply did what needed to be done."

"Very Machiavellian of you," Toni quickly countered.

Their back and forth came to a standstill as Cheryl found herself momentarily quieted.

It wasn't that she found Toni unintelligent. Quite the opposite. Their previous interactions, though few in number, had quickly proven otherwise. Her sharp mind lended itself to a quick wit and a _very_ healthy amount of sarcasm.

She was simply surprised that a highschool student, any highschool student, could make a reference to an Italian politician who had lived in the 16th century. Not that it was a difficult term to understand but just the mere knowledge of it, in addition to having such a strong grasp on its meaning that it could be used so casually in conversation...colour her impressed.

And as if Toni could read her thoughts, a smug smile pulled at the corners of her delectably full mouth.

"Hey Cheryl," Kevin's voice drew her attention, "I actually wanted to invite you tonight but I realized I didn't have your number."

She silently chastised herself as he withdrew his cellphone from his pocket. It was a slip in her judgement. Students were constantly on their cellphones, in between classes, during lunch and even sat at their desks while classes were in session. She had never owned one as the need was never there, but she knew it would be a topic of hot conversation if she admitted to not possessing such a device.

"Oh, I do appreciate the thought. You've just reminded me that I need to replace my international number for a domestic one," she explained slowly. "When that's all set, you'll be the first one to have it," she finished with a perfunctory nod.

Kevin pointed his phone at her in false threat, "I better be."

"What about socials?" Josie asked. "I just know you've got the best outfit of the day posts."

Cheryl furrowed her brow, "Socials?"

"You know, social media," Josie answered distractedly as she pulled out her phone and began tapping away at the screen. "Cheryl Blossom," she enunciated slowly, as if she were spelling out her name. Toni leaned over, watching whatever it was that Josie was doing on her phone.

"Hmm, nothing. What's your Instagram?" Josie asked, looking up from her phone.

Cheryl closed her eyes for a brief moment. She hadn't factored this into her character story. She had heard of social media, of course, would've had to have been living in a place devoid of technology to not, but she was not acquainted enough with the matter to be versed in its abbreviations.

"Oh, a momentary slip," she lied, "and I don't have social media."

She hoped the topic would be dropped.

Kevin leaned forward and placed a disbelieving hand on Josie's shoulder, "That is _tragic_. I'm imagining all the looks of Fall-Winter seasons past that I'll never get to see."

Josie nodded in agreement, "Seriously Cheryl, you should get an Instagram just to show off your style."

Toni chuckled, "See, people like us exist!"

Cheryl eyed her curiously, "Not one for social media?"

Toni shook her head, the familiar fragrance of vanilla and jasmine delighting Cheryl's nose. "No, I-"

"Don't let her fool you," Josie interrupted, "she may never post on her personal, but my girl is basically Insta-famous."

Toni rolled her eyes but smiled at the acknowledgement, "It's really not a big deal. I just have a second account for my photography."

"And she's humble too," Josie cooed.

Cheryl watched with great interest as the dynamic of their friendship unfolded before her. She had hardly been able to witness much of it during the previous weeks. Toni was, more often than not and _much_ to her dissatisfaction, absent from their table during lunch, either working with Jughead on the Blue and Gold or making visits to other tables across the courtyard. In her short time at Riverdale High, she had come to discover that Antoniette Topaz was very well-received across the student body. She was hardly ever alone, even when they happened to cross paths in the hallways.

Thusly, they had only managed a handful of conversations and each time their attention was quickly pulled elsewhere. Never had it taken so long for Cheryl to become intimate with a woman who had caught her eye, especially one she found so appealing.

"Just remember your best friend when you make it big," Josie warned playfully.

Toni scoffed, "How can I forget the person who _forced_ me take their headshots when I got my first real camera?"

"Are you an actress as well as a singer, Josie?" Cheryl inquired.

Toni and Kevin looked at each other, eyes glistening and lips tensed to suppress their laughter.

Josie rolled her eyes, "First of all, Toni, you needed to practice, so, you're welcome." She sighed, "And no, Cheryl, the future Broadway star here is Kevin, but we all know singers tend to branch out into acting."

Cheryl laughed, if people could succeed on sheer willpower alone, Josie was destined to be a star. "Well, I for one, admire your confidence."

"See, it's called being supportive," Josie said, glaring at her friends.

Kevin threw a piece of popcorn at her. "_So_ _dramatic_. It's like you want to be an actress or something."

The decorative light bulbs dangling around the perimeter of the lot dimmed, bathing the expanse of cars in darkness as the screen before them faded to black. Those still visiting with their neighbors hurried back to their own cars. Soon the audience was bathed in a cool glow as the familiar appearance of a grainy black and white radar was projected onto the screen. Noises of celebration could be heard from the rear of the lot as the radar began its countdown.

While the sounds of the crowd settling in surrounded them, Cheryl unabashedly watched as Toni lay her back against the metal enclosure of the truck bed, pressing their shoulders together while burrowing herself into the blankets only to withdraw an arm to offer the bucket of popcorn that sat at her side.

She shook her head in response and returned the smile that she was given, continuing to watch as Toni turned to offer the bucket to Josie who promptly plucked it from Toni's hands and sat it in her own lap, withdrawing a handful of popcorn, all without taking her eyes off the screen.

Toni turned to her again, eyes shining with disbelief as she let out an astonished laugh.

Their nearness.

Her scent.

Her beauty.

Cheryl's attraction compelled her forward, and she watched with amusement as the smile on Toni's face faltered at her unexpected approach.

Though her expression grew serious, the thudding of Toni's heartbeat began to quicken. With keen interest, the vampire observed the way pretty brown eyes roamed her face, duly noting how they lingered for the briefest moment on her mouth.

Ruby painted lips stretched into a devilish smirk.

Toni's sexual alignment was a mystery to her. Perhaps she was curious to know the pleasures of the same gender. She wondered if Toni had ever been intimate with a woman before.

It would be no sacrifice on Cheryl's part to be her first.

With mere inches separating them, Cheryl turned her cheek, and leaned closer still. Her lips were a hairsbreadth from Toni's ear as she breathed in her wonderfully fragrant skin; the aromatic blend of jasmine and vanilla incredibly alluring in its femininity and warmth.

The vampire had learned many things in her years of seduction, but nothing so effective as the _promise_ of touch, how the mind was left to wonder, to _yearn_.

She parted her lips, letting her breath ghost along golden skin. A hint at their closeness, their proximity. A sensory tease.

Toni's calm demeanor was worthy of praise, but her heartbeat betrayed her. The rhythmic thudding increased ever so slightly. The rush of blood pumping through healthy veins and that _damn_ fragrance aroused an ache within Cheryl's incisors and between her legs.

"I don't think you'll be getting that back," she finally whispered into Toni's ear.

Confusion bloomed across Toni's face and the mirthful smile on Cheryl grew. However, the blonde's ever sharp mind did away with the lingering effects of the vampire's small seduction and she cast a quick glance at Josie whose hand was already reaching for another fistful of popcorn.

"Yeah, she's nothing compared to Jug, but that girl loves her salty snacks," Toni nodded knowingly. "Now quit bothering me, I want to watch the movie." She added, giving her a pointed look but Cheryl spied the glimmer of a smile on her lips as she turned to face the screen.

\---

To her surprise, Cheryl found herself properly immersed in the horror film unfolding before her and excited that The Twilight had reserved the month of October for screening nothing but the genre.

While the scares became more frequent, she was entertained further by Kevin and Josie's constant fidgeting, laughing softly at their tendency to watch through parted fingers when the score grew to climactic portions. Toni, though totally engrossed, sat unperturbed.

As the score began to reach another crescendo, the tension thickened among the audience. On screen, the heroine hid herself in a closet, hand over her mouth to quiet her own erratic breathing.

The masked killer entered the room and the audience took a collective gasp.

Through her peripheral, Josie and Kevin curled into themselves, preparing for the upcoming scare. Josie covertly watched behind the bucket of popcorn she had stolen from Toni.

With his knife raised high, the killer took slow, menacing steps towards the closet.

Cheryl frowned, her acute hearing picking up on approaching footsteps. Footsteps made intentionally quiet.

As the killer flung open the closet door, Jughead suddenly jumped into sight, causing Josie to jerk in her seat, sending popcorn flying. Kevin let out a short scream which he tried to cover up with a cough. But Toni had a different reaction.

Quickly leaning over Cheryl, she punched him in the chest. "What the _hell_, Jug!"

Jughead massaged his chest and laughed. "Ow."

Toni rolled her eyes, settling back into the blankets, "You deserved it."

"Aren't you supposed to be working the projector?" Josie asked with a hand still placed on her heaving chest.

While Josie was distracted with Jughead, Toni stole back the popcorn, but her shoulders slumped as she tilted the bucket to show Cheryl the few, dismal kernels sitting forlornly at the bottom.

"Josie, let's go get some popcorn," Toni urged, placing the near empty bucket back on her friend's lap.

"But it's cold." Josie pouted, bringing the blanket up under her chin.

"You literally owe me, but whatever. Kev?"

He looked up from his phone, "Yeah, I just don't want to."

Toni laughed, "Well, can't be mad at the honesty."

Cheryl smiled at the exchange, her eyes languidly moving over Toni's profile, appreciating the beauty of long lashes, a fine nose and full lips.

Then she saw it.

She soundlessly thanked Jughead for his juvenile behavior. Thanked Josie for being so easily frightened. For they had combined to give her an excuse, nay a _reason_, to do what she had been wanting to do ever since breathing in the floral notes exuding from Toni's hair.

The crimson on her perfectly manicured nails disappeared into soft, blonde tresses, delving unnecessarily within the curled waves, pretending to retrieve the kernel that lay within easy reach just to the left of her indulgent hand.

Toni offered no words of stop, only turning her head slightly to give her a quizzical look.

And so Cheryl continued, entwining slender fingers in locks of sweet-smelling hair, quieting the darker desire to take a fistful and _pull_.

She was desperate to know if Toni's expression would fall to one of pleasure or pain.

Her fingers twitched dangerously but before she succumbed to her urges, she drew a saccharine smile on her face, dutifully plucking the kernel from Toni's hair, holding it out for the blonde to see before discarding it.

"Thanks," Toni chuckled, running her hands through her hair and giving it a shake.

Cheryl suddenly found herself playing with the ends of wavy blonde locks, "If you need someone to accompany you to the conce-"

"Hey Toni, c'mon, I'll buy you another thing of popcorn." Jughead's voice crashed over Cheryl's, hindering her attempt at having Toni alone.

Toni rolled her eyes, throwing the blankets off her body. "Least you can do, Jones."

"You last named me, I'm in trouble."

Studying their interaction, Cheryl felt the beginnings of a childish pout forming on her lips. She was sorely unaccustomed to sharing attention, especially a woman's attention.

Jughead reached out a hand to help Toni over the side of the truck bed, and Cheryl's pout lessened as the hand was promptly ignored as she easily vaulted over.

"And you better buy yourself a bucket too, between you and Josie, I'll be lucky if I get a handful," Toni said, while rubbing her hands up and down her arms, which were only covered in a thin flannel. "Shit, it is cold."

"We'll make it fast," Jughead assured, warm in his thick denim jacket.

Men were useless.

"Toni," Cheryl spoke, already easing out of the leather jacket, "here, wear this. It'll keep you warm."

Brown eyes widened in surprise. "Cheryl, thanks but-"

"Oh hush," Cheryl shook the jacket in quiet urging, "the cold does not affect me and even if it did, I still have all these blankets."

She watched Toni smile in appreciation as she took the jacket and shrugged it on.

"You look wonderful in leather," Cheryl complimented.

"Thanks, Cheryl." Toni ran her fingers down the lapel in awe. "This is legit the softest leather I've ever touched."

"Quit fawning over a jacket, let's go!"

Toni whirled around. "Do you wanna get punched again? Come on, ass, I know you're just hungry."

When the pair was finally out of sight, Cheryl couldn't hold off any longer.

Training her eyes on the screen in feigned disinterest, she started, "Toni and Jughead are-"

"The epitome of will they, won't they," Kevin finished for her.

She turned to the boy, his eyes already gleaming at the potential for gossip. "So they're courting one another?"

Kevin gave her an amused look. "Courting? God, I love how fancy you are."

Josie shook her head, "I wouldn't say that, but they definitely have _history_."

The boy nodded, "When Jughead transferred, Toni took him under her wing. They had the whole photography and writing thing going for them. Eventually they got closer and hooked up."

Cheryl pressed her lips into a thin line.

"It was super casual-," Josie began.

"For Toni," Kevin added.

"For Toni," Josie agreed, "but I'm pretty sure Jughead's still hung up on how things went down."

Cheryl quirked an eyebrow, "And how did things 'go down'?"

"Let's just say someone else expressed an interest in Toni and she wanted to pursue it," Josie explained tactfully.

Kevin grinned, "She basically told Jughead that she was 'more into girls anyways.' It was an _iconic_ line."

Cheryl was caught off guard.

It seemed that her surprise was evident and mistaken for something it was not. "Oh my god, please don't think we're outing Toni," Kevin said with a panicked look on his face. "She's open and _very_ comfortable with her sexuality."

She shook her head, "No, no, I was merely surprised."

Josie and Kevin nodded and turned their attention back to the film.

The silence did not last long as Cheryl's mind still teemed with questions. "You confessed that they are the 'epitome of will they, won't they,' but from what I've heard their story seems to be concluded."

"It was, but Toni's fling ended when summer ended. It's obvious to anyone around that Jughead's trying to get close again," Kevin explained with a shrug. "Toni's not against a casual thing."

"But I know my girl," Josie said pointedly, "if someone better comes around, it's bye bye Jughead."

Cheryl plump lips spread into a broad smile as she brushed her hair behind her shoulders and settled back against the truck bed.

"Oh, that _is_ good to know."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm needy as shit right now so love me or criticize me, just give me attention damnit.


End file.
